But here’s the problem: I am a serial overcommitter. A manic multitasker. And, as someone who works outside the home, parents a toddler, and writes fiction, I have a full-to-spilling schedule. (This doesn’t make me unique, by the way. I bet you’re multi-tasking while you read this.)
Anyway, my point is that I don’t need more stuff to do, I need less. Or at least to focus on the things I’ve already got going. Rather than pinning all-day cassoulet recipes, I need someone to pin me down and say, “Hey, instead of pinning 101 things to do with pallets? Yeah. Maybe you should make that appointment to get the couch steam-cleaned. It’s starting to smell like dog and spilled milk.”
I don’t need to learn how to churn my own butter. Or how to make a light fixture out of plastic spoons. Or step-by-step instructions on how to make a DIY stick horse… unless that stick horse can gallop me away to a spa weekend, in which case, giddyup.